


in my dreams

by wintersweather



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 17:11:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersweather/pseuds/wintersweather
Summary: twilight sings a song of a happiness that used to be





	in my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> title/excerpt from the 1924 song, "i'll see you in my dreams" (marion harris version)!

Pat struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat as he slipped through the doors of the Plane Figure. It wasn't the illicit alcohol there that made him feel the crushing weight of guilt on his chest: no, it was more that no one knew he was here. He knew the trouble he could be in if his mentor found out - or even worse, his betrothed.

It was an odd situation. He knew he didn't love her, not like that. He was almost certain she felt the same, but he couldn't broach that subject. Not with so much on the line.

The sweet, perfumelike smell of tobacco was strong inside the building, with smoke floating up to hit the metallic ceiling. People were chatting loudly, laughing over bitter cocktails. Pat took a deep breath, willing his shoulders to drop, to try and relax a little. 

He perched on the edge of a wingback chair, the old leather creaking slightly under his weight. The club was quiet for a Friday night, with most people keeping to their own group. On the sad excuse for the stage was a person sitting at the piano. The stage was essentially a raised plaform, but the owner, Ms. Long, would not tolerate the slander of her dais. Ms. Long was a formidable woman, and about as feisty as they came. Pat tried to stay on her good side.

The performer was a young man, no older than 25, clad in an old suit. The stripes were beginning to fade on the knees of his trousers, but he looked well-kept. His fingers moved adeptly on the keys, playing tune after tune of familar songs. He sang along with his music, voice soft but powerful. Pat would be lying if he sad he wasn't impressed.

The boy garnered a few polite claps every time he finished a song. Some of the better-dressed folks in the building dropped coins in the hat beside the piano, charmed by him. Pat wished he could spare the change to tip him.

Pat was mostly zoning out, staring at the front door as people left and came in frequently. Every time the door opened, he could hear the distinct sound of the rain. The piano and singing blended in with every other sound inside the bar, and Pat didn't realize how much he'd grown accustomed to it until it stopped.

His eyes followed the performer as he collected the money in the hat, slipping them into his pocket and putting the hat on his head. He walked to the bar, ordered a water, and sat in the chair beside Pat on his way back.

"Hey," Pat ventured, looking at the boy. "You were really good."

He turned his head towards Pat, face soft in the tungsten lamp lighting. His eyes were big and round, behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles. He smiled, and Pat was surprised to see how straight his teeth were. "Thanks." He replied, voice soft.

Pat was already struggloing to find a topic to propel the conversation forward, sitting there and stammering for a moment. To his relief, the boy spoke up first.

"Sorry, it was rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Brian David Gilbert." He said, holding his hand out. The sleeve of his shirt rode up, revealing two beat-up watches on his slender wrist. 

That struck Pat as somewhat odd. He shook Brian's hand, nodding his head. "I'm Patrick, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Brian smiled again. "Not every day you see a fellow with long hair." He commented, nodding towards Pat's hair, currently in a small knot at the nape of his neck. "New York is so...eccentric." He added, a dreamy look in his eye.

Pat reached back, feeling his hair self-conciously. But Brian's words weren't malicious, just observative. Pat found _him_ eccentric. Brian didn't have the accent of a native New Yorker. His vowels were raised in a way Pat wasn't familar with, and he frequently dropped consonants. "I take it you're not from here?"

"That easy to guess, huh?" Brian laughed, taking a sip of his water and shaking his head. "Baltimore. I'm pretty new here, really. It always seemed like a dream to live here, y'know? New York, the city that never sleeps." He sighed, adjusting himself in his chair. "It's alright." He said finally.

Pat knew the feeling. When he left Maine, he was under the impression that New York would be the solution to every problem he had. But he was an inventor's apprentice, betrothed to his mentor's daughter who he barely knew, and spent his weekends inside a speakeasy. He told himself it was better than cod fishing in Portland.

"What brought you here, anyway?" Pat prompted, threading his fingers together and leaning a bit closer to Brian.

There was a nervous edge in Brian's laugh. "Well, aspirations, for one. And also, I'd always heard it's more, uh, diverse." He paused, looking Pat in the eyes. "For people like me."

Pat felt like he was missing something. Brian's words were weighted, and he seemed nervous suddenly. Pat didn't really want to pry, except that he sort of did want to. "What do you mean?" He asked, tilting his head.

Brian smiled again, natural. "Nothing. It's not important. I shouldn't go hanging my dirty laundry like that, anyway." He said, more relaxed.

The wires in Pat's brain connected, and he reached a hand out to touch Brian's. "You mean gay?" He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Brian pulled his hand back, eyebrows drawing together. "Yes, don't be dramatic about it." He said, equally as quiet.

Of course Pat knew gay people existed. He just had never met one, not to his knowledge. He felt his face warm, realizing how dumb he was being. That didn't make Brian any different from anyone, especially not him. For Pat, he was reluctant to come to terms with his _own_ sexuality. Brian seemed comfortable, if not a little confident in it.

Pat envied him a bit.

The following silence between them was comfortable. Pat felt calm, like Brian just _knew_. Understood him, his fears. It was strange, but Brian was strange. Pat liked that about him.

"So," Brian said finally, rising to his feet. "I should head out. But, uh, I've spoken to Ms. Long and she gave me permission to perform here every Friday night. Will I be seeing you again?"

Pat stood as well, dully noticing their height difference. Brian was smaller than he seemed when he was sitting. "I come here every Friday night."

Brian smiled, a fond look in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that. I can't help but feel like you're everything New York stands for." He said, putting his hands in his pockets.

Pat tried to fight the blush rising to his cheeks. "I'm not from New York." He said, laughing a little.

Brian nodded and moved a little closer. "That's alright. You don't have to be." He answered, standing on his toes and kissing Pat's lips softly.

It was, in the simplest form, illegal. But they were already surrounded by an obscene amount of unlicensed alcohol, so what could the police do to them now? 

Pat couldn't manage to get any words out as Brian turned and walked out of Plane Figure, a certain amount of confidence in his gait. Pat wondered if he'd ever really see Brian again. Maybe one of them would die before next Friday. Life moved in strange ways sometimes.

Pat felt like he was dreaming.

**Author's Note:**

> i did so much research for this small ass work! smfh! that being said, this may be the work i'm most proud of thus far?
> 
> also i named the speakeasy plane figure bc it's the definition of polygon. haha :^)


End file.
